


Motel California

by Queer_Trash_Queen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, I have a lot of feelings about the motel california episode, Jackson Never Left, So yeah, Sorry Not Sorry, okay?, this is shit btw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3873550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queer_Trash_Queen/pseuds/Queer_Trash_Queen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are all just prisoners there, of their own device</p><p>(A slightly different take on the motel California episode)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jackson

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically my interpretation of what would have happened in the Motel California episode if Jackson hadn't left + a sort of inside look into Lydia's thoughts in the parking lot.

The first thing Jackson becomes aware of is the cold, biting breeze blowing around him. He involuntarily shivers, and wonders why this shit-hole motel keeps the AC on so high. Begrudgingly, he opens his eyes, expecting to be lying on top of the bed in his room, where he’d fallen asleep.

The roof of the motel is decidedly not where he fell asleep. He feels odd, sick almost, but in a familiar way. For some odd reason, he’s reminded of the night of Lydia’s birthday party, and how out of it he felt. He’s standing close to the edge, and he can see that the ground isn’t very far away – maybe thirty feet. The wind makes him sway gently on his bare feet as he surveys the ground below him.

He'd never admit it, but he’s still kind of in awe at all the detail his new sight provides him with, even in the dark at this height. A bright flash of light catches his peripheral vision and his eyes focus on the scene below in time to watch Lydia dive on to those two morons she's been trailing after lately, just as something explodes where they were standing not ten seconds ago.

Suddenly, he has the urge to climb up on the edge and just step off. Without noticing, almost without his consent, Jackson finds himself teetering on the lip of the roof. There’s a tiny voice at the back of his mind that reminds him far too much of when Matt and Gerard took turns using him as their puppet. It tells him to jump. To take one step, just one, and end it all. No more sinister voices in his head, no more nightmares about blood dripping from his hands, of watching himself do terrible things, but not being able to stop himself. Of not being in control of his own body.

He’s seconds away from doing it, actually has one foot swinging over the edge in the cool night air, when a pair of arms wind their way around his waist and tug him away. He knows it’s not Lydia, logically, because he can see her clinging to Stilinski, can almost make out what she’s saying to him. He still finds himself wishing it was.

They’re over, they’ve been over for months now, but he still loves her. She’s the only one who’s ever put up with his shit, and even though he knows she was only using him for the social standing, he thinks they did have something real. Maybe those aren’t great reasons to love someone, but it’s good enough for him. He knows too, that he hurt her pretty badly during the whole Kanima mess, and it still makes him nauseous, keeps him up nights and fuels his nightmares.

Vaguely, he can feel the cool cement of the roof collide with his body, and the pain of that seems to break him from his earlier stupor. A pair of bright yellow eyes meet his as he reacquaints himself with reality. What once was fuzzy around the edges and muted is now vividly crisp and clear.

Erica is none too gentle when she lets go of him and fixes him with a look that is an odd combination of terror, anger, and relief. She lets out a heavy breath and her knees buckle under her until she drops to the ground beside him. Her eyes fade back to their normal brown and her shoulders sag.

“If you ever, ever try anything like that again, I’ll push you myself," she threatens. Jackson can only laugh bitterly. Erica rests a hand on his bare shoulder and squeezes. “You might not give a shit if you live or die, but I do. We do. You’re part of our pack now, like it or not.” He can tell her heart is still racing from the fear and adrenalin and that she’s trying too hard to keep her voice steady. Jackson nods dumbly to reassure her, because he needs them, and they need him. They need him. He’s finally found a family. He may not particularly like them (yet), but they’re his.  
//  
The next time Jackson shifts, his eyes shine brilliant amber.


	2. Stiles and Lydia and Scott

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Lydia and Scott that night at the motel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... I'm back? Kind of, anyways. I posted the first bit of this ages ago, but I've only just recently acquired a laptop of my own, so now I should (hopefully) be able to post more reliably. No promises though.

     They're standing there in the parking lot with baited breath, lit only by the road flare in Scott's hand. 

Lydia presses her hands firmly over her mouth and nose to try and keep the scream clawing at her throat from escaping. Her vision begins to blur at the edges and she realizes that it's because she's crying. Stiles is begging,  pleading  with Scott, but Scott's fist just closes tighter and tighter around the flare. 

For the first time, Lydia can see why people are afraid of him - dripping in gasoline, with red light from the flare throwing terrifying shadows across his face, and his eyes glowing bright yellow; Scott is truly a sight to behold. 

     When Stiles steps foward into the puddle of gasoline, her stomach lurches, though she's not entirely sure why. There are spots in her vision now, from how long she's been holding her breath to keep her scream contained.

Slowly, painfully, agonizingly slowly Stiles reaches out and wraps his long, slender fingers around the road flare. Scott's face sags with relief as Stiles pries it from his fingers and flings it far away.The two boys embrace, and Lydia can physically  feel  the scream disappear from her throat. She lowers her hands and sucks in a deep breath of the cool night air.

( _Stupid, stupid  boys._ )

    Something moves in her peripheral vision, and she whips her head around to see the flare slowly rolling back towards the puddle of gasoline, and the two unwitting boys standing in it. Without a second's thought or hesitation, she flings herself at Scott and Stiles  and takes them all to the ground. She curls her fingers into Stiles' plaid shirt and rolls just as the fuel catches fire and explodes. She tries to shield Stiles with her own body as best as she can, but everything goes numb when she sees the face in the flames.

     It's horrible, twisted and scarred, swathed in a cloak as dark as the night surrounding them. The flames dies down for a moment, just long enough for the face to flicker and then disappear. Lydia drops her face into Stiles' chest and tries desperately to catch her breath.

_(_ _ He smells safe, and warm, and familiar. He smells like fear and smoke and gasoline. He smells like home. _ )

A shaky arm wraps around her waist and another cradles the her head in the crook of its elbow. Scott sits up next to them, all traces of the wolf gone from his face, breathing so heavy Lydia would think he was having an asthma attack if she didn't already know better. 

     Later, when they're all safely gathered on the bus, she tries hard not to think about the implications of her actions, about how her first instinct was to protect Stiles 

( _a_ _bout how her first thought was "oh god, I can't lose him now. please, god, not now")_

and the terror that gripped her when he stepped into that goddam puddle with Scott. She tries (and fails) not to think about what that means. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was v short bc apparently I write ten thousand short pieces of a story instead of one long cohesive thing now? Idek but the next chapter should be a bit longer and should also be posted pretty soon. Also, I still do not have a beta, so any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Please feel free to point them out so I can fix them though!


	3. Allison and Isaac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison and Isaac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last pre-written chapter I have, so I'm not really sure I'll continue this. If there's enough interest, I'll try to keep working on it, no promises though.

    Allison flings open the door to Isaac and Boyd's room, praying that she'll find Scott sitting on the bed, laughing and joking with the boys like everything's fine, even though she _knows_ things are falling apart around them again. 

     What she finds instead is Isaac kneeling on the floor with his head in his hands, staring blankly ahead. He doesn't even flinch, let alone acknowledge her entrance. For a brief moment, she's afraid that whatever it is that's targeting them has gripped him too. Then she notices the unhealed burn across his bare shoulder and chest and realizes that it already has. Stiles and Lydia must have come through not long before her arrival.

     Isaac still gives no indication that he's noticed her, so she edges slowly and carefully around him (like a wounded animal which, she supposes, he sort of is) towards the bathroom. The safe that comes with the room is sitting in the still half full bath tub, giving her a pretty good idea of what went down. 

     There's no first aid kit in the medicine cabinet, so she takes a wash cloth and runs it under warm water. She wrings it out carefully, tries not to think about the other ways she's used the same sharp twisting motion in her training with her father. Allison re-enters the room with the same slow cautious movements and lowers herself into a crouch next to Isaac, ready to launch herself out of the way if he lashes out. 

    He continues to refuse to look at her, so she tells him softly that she's just going to  clean up his wounds to encourage them to heal. The only response she gets is a twitch in his jaw. Gently, she cleans the burns, and when she lifts the wash cloth away she is pleased to see that they've already started to close up.

     "What happened?" She asks. Isaac exhales heavily through his nose, but still doesn't move otherwise. Allison scoots a little closer to him and slowly reaches out to slide her palm over his cheek and turn his face to her. She can see panic and anger lingering in his eyes. "Isaac, it's over now. You're safe now, you're alright. It's over. Talk to me, please," she pleads. 

(She hates that he makes her weak. She's so tired of being weak.)

     Isaac explodes. He shoves her away (she _lets_ him push her) and stands up, turning his back to her. He moves closer to the door as she scrambles up. She stays where she is by the bed, like she can sense that any small movement could set him off. 

     "It's  _not_   over. That's the thing. This will  _never_   be over, not for me. That bastard is dead, and he still has this power, this hold over me. I'm a fucking  _werewolf_   for christ's sake. I have super strength, but I'm still so weak that my dead father controls my life." Isaac turns around to face her, and his eyes shine bright yellow.

     Instinctively, Allison reaches for her dagger. Isaac must notice, because his eyes immediately soften back to their usual golden brown and his defensive stance relaxes.

     "I'm sorry," he mumbles. "I didn't mean to scare you." Allison can't even blame him. She knows exactly what it's like to have something so out of your control make you feel so weak and powerless. She knows, and she hates it too. Still, she defiantly lifts her chin and gives him a cool look. 

     "You didn't. It's fine," She says sharply. 

     "No, it's not. I still don't have a good grip on my temper. I'm exactly like him," he spits bitterly. "Something sets me off, and I hurt the people I'm supposed to care about the most." He moves back over to the bed and sits on the edge. His shoulders slump forward, heavy with the weight of their world. Allison puts her dagger back in its sheath and hesitantly sits down beside him.

     "You're nothing like your father." Isaac snorts derisively, and Allison takes his hand between both of her own much smaller ones. "No, you listen to me. You are not your father. You would never,  _ever_   intentionally hurt me, or any of us, for that matter. Whatever is going on tonight is obviously making all of you lose control and doubt yourselves. I'm pretty sure Boyd tried to drown himself tonight. And Ethan tried to kill himself with a skilsaw earlier." She squeezes his hand in what she hopes is a reassuring way. He refuses to meet her gaze again, so she - very hesitantly - reaches out once again and cups his  chin in both hands. Isaac close his eyes in order to avoid hers. 

     "Isaac, look at me. You. are. not. your. father. I promise you." She presses their foreheads together and takes a deep breath before she does something very, very stupid. Possibly the most idiotic and reckless thing she's done in her whole life (besides that time she'd kissed Scott when her told her he was a werewolf instead of running away like any sensible, normal girl would). She kisses him.

//

     Scott gives her odd looks the whole way back to Beacon Hills, and she pretends not to notice them from her seat across the aisle. Instead, she trains her gaze on the back of Isaac's head three rows in front of her, and hopes Lydia isn't picking up on any of the tension from her seat beside her.

     She's pretty sure Lydia is preoccupied with pretending to ignore Stiles' confused stare and then sneaking glances back at him when she thinks he's not looking anyways. Isaac turns around only once the entire bus ride, but she smiles softly at him until he stops frowning turns back around. She considers that a win. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still don't have a beta, all mistakes are mine, etc etc.

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly, there's more where this came from. 
> 
> p.s. I have no beta sorry


End file.
